


Captured

by ritsuko



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Brainwashing, Breathplay, Chains, Cock Piercing, Cock Rings, Comeplay, Dom/sub, Drugged Sex, Exhibitionism, Hallucinations, M/M, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Monsters, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Play, Non Consensual, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Plants, Rough Sex, Sexual Slavery, Teasing, Tentacle Sex, Training, WTF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-17 23:21:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ritsuko/pseuds/ritsuko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim is captured on an away mission. How much of himself will he lose before Spock can save him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This. . . is going to be really fucked up. You've been warned.
> 
> I'm going through a really dark time right now, so, yeah.

It was an excruciating hell, the waves of pain and pleasure that wracked his body. Jim tried to squirm, but no matter the angle, every twitch seemed to only encourage the monstrosity touching him from every angle. His balls and cock were full and stiff, bound by rings that prevented his own release. The creature's appendages that resembled phalluses stroked him inside and out, against his prostate, the back of his throat, across pebbled nipples and tantalizingly against his tethered cock. He whimpered deep in his throat, but that only goaded the alien creature as it fucked his mouth even more brutally.

Kirk wasn't a weak man, but he was tired. He had lost track of time, blacked out and woken several times since this had started, never once getting to speak a word of dissent to his captors. Not that he had seen anything other than the hideous creature writhing in and out of him.

As if on cue, the thing picked up its pace, pistoning him from both ends with a fervor that he had learned was its last throes before coming. Jim's eyes lolled back in his head, balls painfully blue as those dicks trembled and erupted, the cock in his ass vibrating against his sweet spot with the torrential gush of come. In his mouth, there was nothing he could do but swallow, thick hot semen coating his throat with an aftertaste of spice and musk. Not a bad taste, save for the circumstances. Weakly, he frotted against the tentacle still wrapped around his dick, but it moved away in disapproval. Jim groaned around the digit in his mouth, exhaustion wracking his entire body. He needed to come, oh God, he needed to-

Suddenly, both appendages slid from his ruined holes, and the blonde would have fallen if not for one strong appendage still wrapped around his middle. He could not hold back the streams of come that spilled from either end, there was simply too much to even try. Tears of humiliation stung his eyes. When he could, he would make whoever was in charge suffer. 

But, until then, he just needed to come-

The creature gently set him on the floor, and Kirk gasped at how raw he felt all over, gasping in need even as his cheek hit the semen covered floor. His eyes fluttered, the first moment since he had been captured that he wasn't stuffed full of cock, and he was still about to pass out. 

Suddenly, there were gentle fingers, touching him all over, assessing. The weight of his balls. His rigid length. His hard nipples. His swollen lips. Even a few fingers felt the inside of his ass, and Jim could barely keep himself from pressing onto them.

"Good", a voice murmured, "You're coming along nicely. What a good find you were."

The blonde croaked, trying to form words with a voice raw from fucking and disuse. "Who. . . you?" was all he could muster. Then there was a cup to his lips, and he drank greedily, cold fluid dribbling down his chin. It wasn't water, but it was refreshing.

"Now, now, you probably have questions, but soon you will not. We will rid you of them." The voice soothed matter of factly. Jim tried to look up at his captors face, but it was shrouded too much in shadow. "Now, my most important question is for you. Who are you, little one?"

Jim coughed, and found that speaking was much easier. "What the hell do you think you've been doing to me? I'm James Tiberius Kirk, Captain of the USS Enterprise. You can't just-"

Kirk screamed as the creature behind him picked him up once again, and stabbed into his ass with one swipe, thrusting languidly as his puckered hole stretched to accommodate. The blonde whimpered, bucking away from the cock, but it was no use, the phallus found his prostate every time.

The other alien's voice sounded disappointed. "No, Pet, you see, you are nothing of your former life now. You are a slave, a pet to be used to your master's whims. You will learn this at the hands of my Rhaganzhi. As soon as you resign yourself to your new role, the sooner I will let you come." A hand darted out and slapped his cock, and Jim let out another shrill shriek of pain.

"You fucking-" He started, but then that other cock fitted back into his mouth and yet again, he was being pumped between the two, rhythm relentless.

Hell, Jim Kirk thought before blacking out. He was definitely in hell.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been seventy two hours since the captain's disappearance, and tensions were running high on the ship. Under normal conditions, no one would have ever known that the Vulcan was stressed, but this was the captain that was missing, and the man was running on a knife's edge of manic and logical behavior.

Spock could not stop berating himself. How illogical it had been to let the captain explore on his own, even with no detectable signs of life forms. Even with what a paradise the planet seemed to be. When Kirk hadn't made the rendezvous point of responded to comm calls, things had quickly escalated downwards from there. Search parties, first in the immediate area, and then covering a hundred mile radius. Scanning for life everywhere on the surface, for any other ships in orbit or the vicinity. He had been to the site where the captain had been taken, and there were no signs of a struggle in the bootmarks in the ground. It was as if the man had vanished. Or grown wings and flown off. Both illogical assumptions. 

Someone had taken him. Spock knew, deep down, it was the only logical explanation was that someone or something had taken Jim. Deep down inside, it made a fire in the Vulcan burn white hot, and he grit his teeth against it. Only logic would save the captain. Only logic would find Jim. 

Sighing, he exited the turbolift onto the bridge, as every single pair of eyes turned to him in worry.

They would find him.

He would make sure of it.

__________________________________________________________

The first thing that Jim felt when he awoke was achingly empty. After an unknown amount of hours of being plugged up sexually, the sensation of nothing inside of him seemed alien and discomforting. His mouth contorted with a grimace, eyes screwed shut. One cheek was pressed to the hard floor, and his body was contorted in odd angles. As blood started to tingle back through his limbs, be could feel more of himself- ass in the air, legs spread, and his wrists seemed to be locked to his ankles, which were also locked to the floor. His cock still bobbed uncomfortably against his stomach. He was beginning to think that he would never find release.

"Good, you are awake, pet. Now, what have you learned in your time here?" Came the voice from behind him, and Jim strained to see the owner of the sound, but like before, to no avail. The captain opened his mouth to talk, but then thought better of it, quickly clamping it shut, as the last time, the monster had just started to fuck him senseless again. There is an appreciative purr behind him. "Yes, good. You will never benefit from raising your voice in anger. Now, if you use the proper words, I will allow you to tell me what your new duties are."

Kirk frowned, there wasn't a time that the creature had told him his new so called duties, and he tried to figure out what exactly he should say. He started slowly licking his parched lips, and struggled to raise himself off the ground. It proved impossible, shackled into the humiliating position that his restraints ensnared him in. Finally, he gave in to the demand. "I suppose I'm here for you to have monsters fuck me senseless." He spat, and then squealed in pain as he was struck across the buttocks with something. The pain was excruciating. He could only imagine how red he was now, as tears sprang to his eyes.

"No, pet. You are to call me master. You are to answer me in deference. You exist solely for my enjoyment. Once you come to realize how easy your life will be now, then you will be able to let go of your stubborn pride, then will you be able to be happy. Wouldn't it be much better to be a pet on silken pillows in the palace of a king than to be constantly tormented?" The alien sighed and struck again. Jim was able to bite back another shriek of pain, furious and ashamed. "Do you understand?"

"Yes. . . master." Jim stated, but there was no belief in the word. He hated having to even utter it, but maybe, just maybe, if he acted as if he enjoyed this, that he was compliant, he might find some way of escaping.

A soothing hand rubbed his ass cheeks, as if petting a small animal. "Very good. Now just act like you mean it. Tell me, pet. What is your purpose?"

Jim swallowed, thighs trembling. He tried to steel himself from the touch, but his body kept craving it lower on his cock. "I am your slave. I am to do everything you ask of me. I don't matter. Only you do." The blonde stated, and the hand suddenly darted between his legs, pinching and twisting the sensitive skin there. Jim cried out, "Master! Master!" Tears of shame dribbled down his cheeks, and the grip loosened, softly tracing the fullness of his balls in lazy circles. Jim bit his lip in frustration. The would be so much easier to get through if his balls didn't ache and he could actually move. At the moment, he could only concentrate on one of those things, and getting his head clear seemed to be the most important one. He steeled his resolve, and decided that maybe he could act his way out of this, trick the alien into a false sense of dominance. If there was one thing that Jim was good at, it was sex.

"Please, I am so sorry, master, I am just in so much pain, you allowed your creature to come in me so many times, and I didn't get to. Please, please let me come, master." Jim's voice took on a breathy whine, so much so that he felt sickened by the tone of his voice. He hated pretending to be so pathetic, but it seemed to be the only way to get out of his predicament, to go along with his captor's ridiculous plans. If he could just get free, maybe he could contact the Enterprise, Spock-

A jolt ran through him as he thought of the Vulcan, desperately glad that the other man could not see him like this. That none of his crew could. He would do whatever he could to get himself out of this situation. No matter the cost to his pride.

He couldn't even imagine a rescue attempt at this point. How humiliating it would be. Spock, leading a party bursting in the room only to be greeted by his slack asshole and dangling cock. How he would look away in utter disgust, or worse yet, that neutral, unreadable face that could be masking something akin to pity-

The creature seemed to be assessing him, touching him all over again. Kirk groaned, unable to stop himself from jerking into the touch. The creature was muttering to himself in an alien tongue, one that the blonde couldn't decipher. Finally, the alien brushed his fingers over the captains cock, and the ring binding him fell away. His orgasm was immediate and lacking, just pent up come being spent, nothing to milk it out, no touches to make it satisfying. Jim couldn't help but whimper, he still felt like he needed to come, though his balls felt slightly lighter. 

"Hold still, pet." The voice crooned, and again he could feel the unwelcome weight of the ring encircling him again. "If you are good, I will give you a treat."

Jim had had enough. "Fuck you! You let me go, I want to go back to-" His voice cut off, as fiery pain spread across his ass, over and over. He was being struck, with what he couldn't tell, but it was awful. He bit the inside of his lip until he could feel blood running down his chin. He couldn't let this thing treat him like this. He continued to struggle in his bonds to no avail, and the creature behind him tsked in annoyance.

"You are a fiery one. I suppose it will take much more to break you." Another slap. "But you will be broken. This time next month, you will be my highest seller, I just know it. As soon as we train some humility into those lips of yours." Another. Jim cried out in anger, shaking with fury. He slackened in his bonds, only because the futility of his inability to move only made him steel his resolve. But damn, it hurt. "Bad slaves don't get treats. Do you know what they get?"

Jim stilled in his bonds, and grit his teeth to keep from snapping out a retort. Before he knew it, a hand was forcing his jaw open. Wildly, he tried to push his captor away, to no use. The creature upended a bottle of sweet smelling liquid into his mouth, viscous and pungent, the taste thick and hearty, musky and strange. The hand clamped over his mouth and another soothed the liquid down his throat, stroking down the length of his neck. When he finally swallowed, the hands let go. Weakly, he tried to look up to see his captor, but again the thing was shrouded in darkness.

A strange sensation started to well inside him, and Jim groaned. Already, he was getting hard again, swelling painfully against the cock ring. "What did you. . ." Jim panted, as a fiery heat spread through his body. It felt as if he was being touched all over, intimately, with no one actually there. Despite himself, his body started to rock back and forth as a haze settled over his brain. The blonde whimpered, but couldn't focus anymore words. He had an overwhelming feeling of wanting to fuck, to be fucked. . . even just to be touched. 

"We shall see how mouthy you will be in a couple hours, pet. I am sure you will be screaming to be touched then. If you are good, then maybe I will let you be sodomized again. If you can beg for it." The voice left the room, the door closed behind him. But Kirk could think of nothing in his drug induced stupor but wanting to be touched. All he could accomplish was an awkward fidget that touched nothing.

His thoughts wandered, trying to think of anything that could keep him from the tantalizing itching under his skin. By now, someone had to realize that he was missing, Spock had to-

Jim gasped, as heat rushed to his groin. Just the mere thought of his first officer made his flesh thicken against the cuff until it could get no harder. It was difficult for him to understand why the thought of Spock was getting him hard, but it was. To the point that in his delusion he started thinking about the Vulcan, naked, exploring him, touching him, examining him as if he was a rare life form on a class M planet that needed to be documented, though he doubted that Spock would ever finger any life form, anywhere. The captain moaned at the images in his head, fantasy slowly becoming a reality to his fevered body. 

_It's not real, it's not. . ._ He tried to reason with himself, until his deluded brain started to feed him images of Spock slamming into him in this embarrassing position, claiming him for his own, whispering unknown words in Vulcan. His cock bobbed in an erratic tempo, giving in to the phantom feel of the Vulcan pounding into him but never releasing, and his body craved it.

Before long he was whimpering Spock's name, fully engrossed in his drug induced delusion, smiling happily to himself, and yearning to come for his Vulcan.


	3. Chapter 3

He doesn't know how long he has been babbling to himself, a constant mantra of need as he wriggles in his confines. Jim needs release, needs to come. Phantom fingers have been tracing him all over, his thoughts turning from Spock to Bones to just about everyone on the ship, anyone that could give him freedom from the maddening throbbing between his legs. His cheeks are wet with tears, a sheen of sweat covering his body.

The cock ring binds him tightly, and not even a drizzle of precum can ooze out. His dick feels so heavy that he wishes that there was anything that he could frottage on.

"You seem to have gotten yourself in quite the predicament."

Jim's head whips toward the sound, recognizing the voice even half maddened with lust. But there is no way that he could be here. "S. .Spock!" He whines, eyes landing on the impeccable form of his first officer, resplendent in his blue and black uniform.

The Vulcan steps forward, right behind the blonde, and Jim realizes that the other man can see all of him, spread lewdly and yearning for touch. He has to bite his tongue not to beg the Vulcan to fuck him. In that silence, Spock reaches out and places a cool hand on one of Jim's ass cheeks, and the captain nearly sings his desire.

"Spock, what are you-" He chokes out, and the Vulcan's fingers trace inward to the cleft between his cheeks, searching out the puckered hole in between. Spock gently strokes the orifice with a fingertip, and the blonde's eyes roll back into his head. God, if it feels like this for him, what must it feel like for a Vulcan, someone of an incredibly tactile race, someone who comes from a culture that kisses with their fingers?

Almost as if his thoughts have been heard, the commander's index and middle fingers press together against him, and he hisses in pleasure, unable to stop his hips from rocking back against them. "Spock, please!" His voice is ragged, thick with need.

Those fingers keep stroking and softly probing, but never dart in. Jim groans in frustration. "What is it that you need? Tell me what you want me to do to you."

"Dammit Spock, I-" Jim is cut off with a keening yelp, as he feels a light slap against his cock. It doesn't hurt, but the stimulation sets him off, trying to rut against that flesh that so briefly touched him, only to find it gone. The blonde growls in frustration.

"You do not seem to understand the situation you are in. There is no fighting. You must submit. There is nothing else that you can do. If you follow orders, you will be granted release." The words spring from the Vulcan's mouth, and sound so logical, but they seem off to the blonde. He tries to still his jerking hips, but the continued attentions of Spock's fingers and the heat of his breath, so close to his trembling pucker and swollen balls make him rut against the air like a wanton whore.

"Spock, I'm a captain in Starfleet, you're my first officer. How can I-"

"Not anymore." The Vulcan's tone is firm.

"Yes, I am." Jim declares stubbornly and is rewarded with another delicious slap against his cock. He nearly purrs his pleasure. "Ah, fuck Spock. Just. . . dammit. Touch me again."

"Fascinating." Spock states, and the captain groans at how much this delusion actually sounds like his Vulcan. "Do you wish for me to fuck you?"

A groan rips though Jim's lips, incredibly horny. Add that to the list of things that he never thought he would hear Spock say. He wants to say yes, to beg him to put those fingers in, his tongue his cock, anything, just to alleviate the need. "Shit Spock. . . I. . . I. . ."

Something cool and sticky pours down his crack and a sweet musk fills the air. "Spock, what are you-" Jim's voice abruptly pitches to a lusty shriek as the Vulcan's two fingers pierce him.

An ozh'esta. It's called an ozh'esta. He's seen Spock press his fingers to Uhura's in the past, after the Nero incident, when the two were still dating. And now Spock was Vulcan kissing his prostate. His ass spasms around those fingers, clenching and unclenching uncontrollably, craving more.

"What is it you need?" Spock's voice is honey over his body, breath still warm against his sack. Jim's eyes flutter closed lost in the sensation, and starts to piston himself on those fingers not even waiting for the other man to start. Spock makes a noise of approval deep in his throat.

His whole ass is tingling heating from the liquid that is now lubricating him, and Jim thinks it might be the same as the drink that was given to him earlier. His suspicions are confirmed when moans start to rip out of him in like a torrential downfall.

"Oh, oh shit Spock! Please, fuck, yes, right there, please, right there More, fuck Spock, more! Harder!" He whines, trying to command the Vulcan, but the other man keeps to an excruciatingly slow pace, stroking his prostate with his fingers together, and pulling out with a scissoring motion, over and over. Jim's tongue lolls out of his mouth, and he pants, feeling like a bitch in heat. Suddenly Spock's fingers feel too small, and he wants more. "Spock, more, come on, dammit, more!"

He nearly chokes as more of the liquid that the monster had given him before is poured onto his lips, thick and musky. It seems sweeter this time. Jim tries to clamp his mouth shut, but his continual moans make it hard to. 

"Lap it up." Spock commands, and Jim can only comply, licking the sticky liquid from his lips. It's actually good. A constant stream is pouring down, and his tongue darts out, licking it into his mouth as if he were a cat with cream. This seems to please the Vulcan, because he increases the tempo, and Jim keens his pleasure, wiggling around the fingers.

It feels so good, Spock's fingers inside him, stroking his core-

"Fuck me!" He cries out so suddenly that it surprises himself. But he cannot help the feeling. "God, Spock, fuck me! I want you inside on me, right now."

Those fingers do no ease their torments, and soon the captain is babbling, begging for the Vulcan to fill him with cock. "I need you, Spock, please, please dammit, fuck me!" He pleads. The fingers still inside him, and tears start to well in his eyes. "No, no! Don't stop! Please, God Spock, just please, I'll do anything!" 

There is silence, and the other man retracts his fingers. Jim lets out a broken sob. He knows that this is unbecoming, that this is not the way to act, that this isn't even Spock, but it hurts, it fucking hurts, he wants to be filled again, even if they give him back to that thing that relentlessly fucked his holes-

"Call me Master."

Jim tries to see Spock behind him, but the other man's face is in shadow. Jim moans undulating his ass in the air. It seems like so much to say, too far to break-

"Master." The word is thick in his mouth, but once it is uttered, a floodgate opens. "Master, please. Please, fuck me. I need you in me. Please, just fuck me."

There is another pause. "You must learn patience. You are spoiled."

Jim cries out. "Please, Sp- Master. I need it. I need your cock. In me. I'm going to die if I don't come!" A cool hand feels his balls, and he chokes out a sob, grinding into it. "Please, I won't fight you. I need this. Please, Master, I need this!"

He is babbling, but something has shut off in the blonde's brain, all inhibitions. He wants that cock in him, no matter what. There is no telling what he would do for it at this point, but to finally get to come, he would do nearly anything.

Suddenly, he can feel the head of Spock's dick rubbing at his pucker and he sighs with need. "Yes, yes, please Master, take me, take me as you need, God just please, I-"

Jim screams as his ass is filled to the root by Vulcan cock. It's huge Drool pools from the corner of his mouth, his cheek flush to the ground. Spock does not give him a moment to recover. The Vulcan starts pounding mercilessly into him, rubbing swiftly against his prostate with each stroke. Jim's cries of ecstasy fill the cell, held back only by the ring on his cock.

Spock begins to stroke his cock in tandem with his thrusts, and Jim's shrieks reach a dazzling crescendo. When Jim feels like his eyes can roll no further into the back of his head, the Vulcan simultaneously shoots hard into him and removes the ring.

The roar of Jim's orgasm reverberates through his ears, Spock's hand still pumping his cock, milking it out. Still the Vulcan pounds into him, milking himself of the thick steam of come seems to never end. Jim feels full, so full, like he is distending full of semen, like a full belly after a thanksgiving meal.

Or maybe a stuffed turkey. Literally, he feels like Spock's come is filling him to the brink, stretching him, claiming him as his own. The blonde spasms, and to his surprise and relief comes a second time, mainly from being so pent up and denied.

Spock's hand massages his balls, rolling them back and forth against his warm hand. Jim croons an affirmative noise at him, and the other man pulls out. Semen gushes down his legs as he can feel the Vulcan's come evacuating his body. His asshole twitches, already missing the other man's cock.

The Vulcan kneels in front of him, undoing the locks on his wrists. Jim blinks, but is still too groggy in the afterglow to do anything when he feels hands under his chest, propping him up. The massive, green veined cock bobs in front of his lips, and he unwittingly licks his lips.

"Clean me." Spock demands. Jim props himself on shaky arms, the blood flow slowly coming back, but there is no need. The Vulcan holds him over his cock at the perfect height and angle to dart his pretty pink tongue out and lick along that veined length. The blonde's eyes are half lidded, pupils blown. Heat radiates through him, burning hotter than the warp core of the Enterprise. His mind is sluggish, thinking only of this wonderful cock and why he has never tried to fuck around with Spock before. He tongues it, the musky salt flavor of Spock and himself, even popping the head into his mouth and sucking on the tip, rewarded with the last few droplets of unspent semen.

Finally, Spock grabs him by the chin and tilts his head up. Jim stares into his face with fogged blue eyes, recognizing but not comprehending. He wants the cock in his mouth still.

"Who am I?" Spock asks, thumb tracing the curve of Jim's jaw.

The answer comes easy this time. "Master."

"Who are you?" The thumb traces over his swollen lips, coating them with the sticky residue of the fluid that Spock had poured into his mouth.

Jim gives his lips a satisfied smack, grinning with lust. "Your slave."

"What is your purpose?" The Vulcan pulls him up, pressing him against the warmth of his chest.

"To please you." Jim sighs, cuddling into the other man, despite his cock, already hardening again, leaking on the Vulcan's pants.

Spock asks one last question. "And what is the only thing you may request from me?"

Smiling dreamily, the blonde replies. "Your cock."

The Vulcan smiles uncharacteristically, but it doesn't even register in Jim's drugged brain. "Yes. Now the real training can begin."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breaking down.

A week passed with no leads. Spock cannot help but feel devastated. There have been no traces, no trails. Nothing. The Vulcan has increasingly been subject to migraines, but he takes nothing to still the pain. He knows it is illogical, but Jim is out there, somewhere. 

"Commander," Uhura calls to him from the communications station, and the Vulcan realizes that he must have zoned out, and frowns. His concentration has been failing lately, all he can think of is Jim, and where he must be. There are so many threats. . . unknown and known, like the Klingons, Romulans. . . or any number of life forms not yet know to them. 

"Yes, Lieutenant?" He asks crisply, all business. They have not been dating for a long time, but he can still see the hurt in her eyes, masked by her work face. She is strong, but he knows that their breakup took a toll on her. 

More than it had on himself.

"Admiral Kovatch is hailing. He says he must speak to you immediately." He can tell by the look in her eyes that it will not be good news. 

"I will take it in the ready room." Spock responds, standing and making his way there. "Mr. Sulu, you have the conn."

The room feels empty without Jim in there with him, taking correspondences and briefing his crew. The Vulcan suppresses a sigh and turns on the view screen.

"Admiral."

"Commander." The older man looks forlorn, slightly ashamed, but authoritative. It is the first warning sign that the news will definitely not be good. "How goes the search?"

"There have been no leads. We have searched the quadrant and the outlying areas. I am still confident that with enough searching-"

The Vulcan is cut off by the other man. "Spock. It has been nearly two weeks. Orders have come from above-" The other man starts, but the Vulcan is firm in his wording.

"We will find him. He is close. Hidden on a nearby planet or on a cloaked ship. For all we know, he could be being tortured for information at this very moment. He must be found." Spock states implicitly, and the other man sighs.

"Be that as it may, we, as Starfleet have an obligation. We must continue our jobs, Commander. One missing man does not warrant for a mission to halt." Spock opens his mouth to protest, but the Admiral is cold. "You are to move on to the next uncharted quadrant. You cannot stall orders, Spock. They must be followed. That is your job. Unless you think you cannot do it?"

Silently, the dark haired man stares at the screen, face neutral, save for a slight clench of his jaw. "I understand Starfleet's views on the matter."

The man on the other end of the screen lets out a sigh of relief. "Good to know you are seeing it our way. Please take all of the proper precautions, you are in charge now."

The screen goes black, as if the other man can hardly wait to get off of the comm with the Vulcan, and be rid of the awkward subject matter. Spock grits his teeth, although his face stays impassive.

He knows protocol. Down to the letter.

But he also knows that Jim is out there, could be hurt, could need their help. 

Jim is his friend.

His. FRIEND.

He rises, tugging down on his uniform shirt and strides through the doors onto the bridge. Several sets of eyes glance his way, and Sulu vacates the chair. He sits, pensive.

"Mr. Chekov?" He inquires, and the curly haired young man turns to him. 

"Yis, commandir?"

"Set course for another search of the quadrant. We must keep looking." Spock states, and feels slightly heady at his disobedience. 

In retrospect, he muses, it must be a common feeling for Jim.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Are you going to be good?" The voice intones neutrally, and the blonde grits his teeth. He knows, deep down, that this isn't real, it can't be real. That his Spock would never do this to him.

"Yes." Jim states, and then cries out as a hand slaps roughly at each of his reddened buttocks. It hurts, so damn bad, but feels unexplainably erotic at the same time. But that could also be attributed to the phallic object pulsating in his ass.

"Yes what?" Boots circle around him, and Jim fights the urge to kiss them. His head is groggy. It has been awhile since they have last administered the drug that seems to rob him of all inhibitions and reason, the vile liquid that makes him yearn and beg for cock, to be pounded mercilessly. Clenching his eyes shut, he exhales sharply.

"Yes, Master." He mumbles, and is jerked up by his hair. Spock- no, not his Spock, some delusion or shape shifting monster- looks him straight in the eye, face impassive. He looks so much like Spock, it is hard to deny that he might be. But Spock would never chain him, never hurt him. He cries out as the other man pinches tiny clamps onto his nipples, a small chain dangling between. Since he has first started hallucination the Vulcan, there have been many instances of things like this- toys pinching and prodding him, sweet and noxious elixirs he's been fed. He has only been allowed to come when he has been considered to be on exemplary behavior, and each of those times he has been delusional. 

The Vulcan tugs experimentally on the filigreed chain between his nipples, already to sensitive from so much abuse. Jim groans as his cock twitches, still bound by a ring.

"How does it feel?"

"Very good Master." The blonde feels like he is reciting lines from a play, but the words fall flat, not an award winning performance. The Vulcan's hands drift between his legs, palming Jim's taut balls. A whimper erupts from the blonde's throat, ragged with need.

"What do you want, pet?" Spock inquires, tugging lightly on the chain. Shocks shoot through him to his cock, and Jim groans. He just wants to fucking come, that's all that he ever wants, and so very rarely gets. In his time here, however long it has been, he has constantly been kept from coming, satiating only the Master's needs first and foremost. He supposes it is to keep him compliant and willing. Yearning for more. It pisses him off. But part of him. . .

Part of him is starting to crave it.

"I need you Master, inside me. Please, fuck me hard and ragged, use my holes to your desires. Feed me your come, use me until you are pleased." Jim feels like he has said the words a hundred times, is being conditioned to think that this is the truth. His cock hurts so bad, he almost wants it to be. How much nicer it would be to fuck without a ring on, with someone who actually cared about his needs. The Master will never care about his needs though. Not like the real Spock.

"Do you matter?" The voice queries, mirroring his thoughts.

"No, only you matter. My pleasure is in pleasing you, Master." Jim replies, closing his eyes as a bead of sweat trickles down his back, trailing between the cleft of his ass, tantalizingly over his stuffed hole.

A correct answer. The object in his ass vibrates higher, reaching a pleasing crescendo against his prostate. The blonde starts to moan, bucking his hips into the feeling. Spock tugs again at nipple clamps, and Jim bites his lip.

"You do not sound pleased, pet."

"Give me your cock, and I shall be very pleased." Jim states mildly, panting and gasping for air. His walls twitch and clench around the alien dildo, wishing that the other man would let him come, even if it meant fucking again. 

Especially if it meant fucking again.

He shrieks as the Vulcan slaps his cock, once, twice, three times, jerking into it, hating it and wishing that it would never stop. "You will always use the term Master, slave."

"Yes Master, my apologies." Jim babbles, just wishing for release. Suddenly he is jerked up by the chain, and he shrieks as the sensitive flesh of his nipples is pulled even tighter. The Vulcan is staring down at him coldly, holding the chain in one hand, and a glass, uncorked bottle in the other. 

"You are still fighting me. The longer you do so, the longer your torment will continue. You are nothing. My slut, my pet, whatever name I choose to call you. Whatever I choose to do to you. Open your whore mouth. Now." It is so strange even now to hear those words uttered from Spock's mouth. Jim swallows, but complies, mouth wide and tongue lolling out. The familiar musky taste hits the back of his throat and a feeling of warm euphoria fills his entire being. He swallows, and the Vulcan pours more of the liquid onto his cock, and it twitches, enveloping him in a hard heat. The blonde cannot stifle the wanton moan that slips from his lips. He is humping the air, mouth slack and open for more of the drink. The Master seems to ponder this a moment, and then pours more.

Kirk laps at it like a cat with cream drinking as much in as lustily as possible. It tastes so good, makes all of him feel so good, that it can't be bad, right? Its warm phantom fingers tracing over his body, amplifying the buzzing of the phallus in him, thick and sticky like cum in his mouth. He wishes he could roll in it, play in it. Soon, thoughts of being a Captain and of Starfleet flit from his mind, and all he can think of is Spock. 

Eyelids heavy, his azure eyes peek up at the Master's face.

"Sp. . . Master, please give me your cock." He pleads, inhibitions flown. "Please? I need it so badly. . ."

Spock quirks an eyebrow at him, so much like his Vulcan that for this moment right now, to Jim, he is his Vulcan. "Where can I put it pet? Your ass is full."

The blonde latches his fingers onto the front of Spock's pants, petting and crooning. "Put it in my mouth, please, Master. You taste so good, even better than that stuff you give me. I was to suck you and lick you all over, until you shoot your delicious load down my throat. I'll drink it all. I promise. Just please, give it to me."

There is a moment of silence as the dark haired man seems to contemplate. "Very well. Service me, my little whore."

It seems like his fingers cannot work the fastenings of the Vulcan's trousers fast enough before that beautiful cock spills out of them, bobbing in front of his face, green veined and long and BEAUTIFUL. Jim ghosts his breath over the length before getting to excited, like a child in a candy store, and licking all down the underside of it, veins throbbing against his tongue. He rubs his face against it, feline in his movements before lapping at the tip, sucking at the slit and earning himself a droplet of precum. He lathers it on his tongue, savoring the spicy musky taste of his Master.

He widens his mouth allowing the massive head entry, sucking along the foreskin and humming his satisfaction. His master has the best cock he has ever tasted. He is such a lucky pet. Jim hums his appreciation as he inches his way down the Vulcan's length, bobbing up and down, tongue lathing at the underside. He stops only when Spock's head hits the back of his throat. 

"All of it." Spock demands, and Jim tries to comply. He has never been the best at deep throating, and only since his time here has he really had the chance to get any better, or lack of choice. But what he lacks in experience, he makes up for in effort, relaxing his throat and coaxing more of the length down it. It is slow going, as he breathes through his nose, swallowing repeatedly. The Master growls in approval, and he is giddy with satisfaction. His throat is still coated with the drug, and it seems to be making the cock fit in hit mouth easier, or else it is just making him want it more. Sighing around the length, he manages to nestle his nose into the Vulcan's wiry pubic hair. The other man smells minty, clean. For a moment, Jim frowns, Spock always smelled of cinnamon and vanilla. . . like some kind of tea.

Suddenly, the Master slaps him on his ass, and the blonde squeals around the length, muffled and heady, as he tried to pull off, but Spock holds him tight, speared to the root. The phallus in his ass is spasming wildly, snapping against his prostate in a hellish tempo. He rocks against it, body going wild like a bucking stallion. His throat is constricting around the flesh in his mouth, and he can't breathe-

But he is suddenly surrounded in the scent of vanilla and cinnamon. He groans the last bit of his air, eyes rolling back in his head, seeing stars and feeling weightless.

The cock rips out of his throat in one raw motion, and then suddenly is barreling back in, a furious tempo. Jim tries to suck, to breathe, but at this point all he can do is open his mouth and whimper as he is skull fucked mercilessly. Without thinking, he threads his hands down the front of his body, tugging at the chain that connects his pebbled nipples in with one, fondling his balls with the other. It feels so good.

And then his throat is miserably empty, the Vulcan's cock pumping sticky threads of come onto his face. He closes his eyes, mouth open so he can catch his master's semen, reveling in the taste. The fluid runs down his chest, coating his cock. It squelches under his fingertips as he continues to palm his sack. When the stream lessens, he opens his hazy blue eyes and sucks the head, reveling over it as if it were a lollipop or popsicle. It's his special treat to savor. The Master is so kind.

When the come is clean from his Master's cock, he lays back, rigid and vibrator still pummeling his prostate. The Vulcan considers him for a moment, and then blessedly removes the ring.

His orgasm is immediate. He yowls his ecstasy as he comes hard, shooting straight into the air, orgasming from the stimulation in his ass. His come splatters back onto his chest, and he pants, dizzy with lust. 

"Thank you, Master." He pants, blown pupils gazing at the Vulcan in admiration.

Spock stares at him a moment. "Come again."

Jim slightly cocks his head, as if puzzling for the words. It is the first time that he has been given the opportunity to masturbate on his own. While the ring is off, he is desperate to touch himself, to stroke himself to another numbing orgasm. His fingers reach. . . but he pauses.

"Only if it pleases you, Master." He states, waiting and watching. 

The Vulcan grins down at him, and again, the blonde knows something is off, but he just can't wrap his head around what it might be. He groans internally as Spock slips the ring onto his cock again, shivering that it is already half hard. "Very good, pet. You are making great strides." Spock strokes his cheek, and he can't help but nuzzle into the touch. "Let us go bathe that pretty pink skin of yours, and then I will allow you to bounce on my cock again like the pretty thing you are."

A smile fights his way across Jim's lips, but then what is there to fight about? He sighs in contentment at Spock's touch, his sensitive buds, swelling cock and the delight of still being filled by the phallus. What could ever be wrong?

"Yes, please, Master. I would like that very much."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orders. Bathing. Resurgence. Breaking.

Spock knows that the call is coming.

How can it not? Three weeks have passed and he has given no indication to Starfleet that they have not altered course. Over a month without Jim in the chair. His absence has taken a toll on everyone. The crew seems downcast and trodden upon, without even a glimmer of hope that their captain is still alive.

Doctor McCoy rarely comes to the bridge anymore, and when he does, there's the scent of bourbon on his breath. 

For some reason, Spock can't bring himself to reprimand him.

The call from Kovatch is explosive.

"You disobeyed direct orders to start mapping the next quadrant!" Kovatch is yelling, but Spock stays impassive.

"And I conveyed to you that move time was needed-"

"And I gave you strict orders to let. It. Go." The older man snarls, and the Vulcan feels a twinge of irritation he wouldn't have allowed himself a month ago. "You seem to not want to be the captain of this ship very badly, in fact, it seems that you might want to be dismissed from your post!"

Spock's teeth gnash together behind pursed lips. "That is not what I desire at all, Admiral."

"Then you will continue on with your mission, and report to me directly every day. And if you veer off course one meter, I swear, I will have you incarcerated for your disobeyal! Kirk's disappearance is terrible, but we still have a job to do. You prove to me that you can."

Before Spock can say a word, the comm blinks off, and he stares at it, a moment too long.

When he enters back on the bridge and gives the order to leave for their original destination, it feels like his blood is running cold. Like he's letting Jim down. Crestfallen eyes gaze at him, and unbidden, shame wells inside of him. He gives Sulu the conn and makes his way to the Turbolift, barely knowing where his footsteps are leading him.

The doors of the medbay open to him, and he steps in, seeing the light on in Leonard's office. Several steps and he is there, feeling slightly invasive as he watches McCoy pour himself a hearty drink. Spock clears his throat, and Bones looks up.

"Spock. Imagine seeing you here." Leonard slurs lightly, eyes bloodshot. It seems that Spock has not taken into account the undue stress that Jim's absence has been taking on the captain's best friend.

"Well." Spock states, unsure as to why he has even come to the doctor in the first place, save for a nagging thought at the back of his head.

"Uhura commed me. Said the Admiral was pissed." Bones swallowed another gulp of his drink, and seemed to look into his glass, as if the answer to some unknown question could be scryed there. "We're giving up. . . aren't we."

It's not a question, but a resigned statement. The words of a man who has dealt with loss and death and blood on his hands over and over and knowing that the time to let go has come, like it or not. Spock can only nod numbly. 

Leonard sighs, and pulls another glass out of his drawer. "Fucking Starfleet. Fuck them." He spits vehemently, and pours the cup to the brim for the Vulcan, fully well knowing that the other man's metabolism can take it. Spock stares at it a moment, and then at the doctors sad eyes.

The liquid is surprisingly smooth as it goes down, burning the edge off of his defeat.

 

~!~!~!~

 

The water is just warm enough, scented with florals and thick and heady. It makes Jim smile languidly as his arms float through the water. He is being held against his Master's chest, as the other man gently washes his hair. 

"You are being very good, pet."

"You feel good, Master. I enjoy your attentions. Thank you." Jim practically purrs, writhing in the other man's lap. It's hard to imagine how long he has been here, since the beginning seems so long ago, almost like an eternity. He wonders why it was so hard for him to transition to what he has become. Everything seems easy now, and Spock takes the best care of him. He feeds him, cleans him, fucks him. All he has to do is behave. For days (Weeks? Months? Years?) he has, and he has gotten everything that he has wanted, kindness and release. 

But in his dreams, there is something else, sleek and beautiful, pristine corridors and a big chair and so many people that look up to him, care about him-

He gasps as he is entered, the smell of lilies and jasmine permeating his senses, dulling him. Beautifully he writhes, accommodating as much of the Master as he can. Mouth slack and panting, he croons as hands start to caress his nipples. He also can't remember exactly when they were pierced, or his cock for that matter. The master said the gems would look good on him, that they matched his eyes. It's hard not to think of them as something that Spock wanted to adorn him with. Even though they are not.

"Move, pet." 

And he does. Jim gyrates and rolls his hips as if his life depends on it, as if there were never any other hopes, dreams or ambitions in his head than becoming his Master's whore. Spock fills him completely, and he moans wantonly as he impales himself over and over again on that length. Something wraps around his cock, stroking languidly. Something ekes it's way into his slack mouth, and all he can do is groan his pleasure. It doesn't make sense, how Spock can make him feel so good, how he can fill all of his holes at once-

Something wriggles at the back of his mind, screaming at him to come to his senses, but it's so far away, covered in muddy waters. It doesn't really matter, does it? He reaches out, stroking two more phallic objects, eyes rolling back into his head. He is so filled, and he feels so good.

The cock in his mouth erupts at nearly the same time as the one in his ass, and it isn't hard to suck down the come. He has grown to accept it, to love it, to crave it. His ass still slams down, milking every drop into its greedy confines, even as his tongue licks at the cock in his mouth. Come sprays across his face from the two cocks in his hands, dribbling thickly down his chin and torso. Jim lets out a slight whimper, begging for release.

"Come, pet."

Jim moans, pumping seed into the clean water. He is such a dirty whore, but the Master cares for him anyway. Cares enough to keep him free of the ring, to let him come when he commands it. His eyes roll back into his head, and for a moment, his vision tilts, and there are wispy tendrils all about him, viscous and fleshlike, poking and prodding at him. He frowns slightly, Spock doesn't have tentacles.

Another stroke against his prostate as the cocks slide out elicit another strangled moan from him, and he falls limply back against his Master's chest, contented.

"You are coming along nicely." The Master compliments him, running soothing hands over his ass that Jim shivers into the touch. Just the sound of the other man's voice is enough to get him half hard. "Time to clean you out now, pet."

Jim has been cleaned enough times now that he well knows the drill. On legs like jelly, he turns to the rim of the tub, standing up out of the water but lowering his torso so he is splayed legs wide apart, ass in the air, and arms folded on the rim, cheek against his forearm. What once was an invasive process is now soothing.

He feels the device enter him, and the lukewarm scented water begins to flow into him. Sighing, he shuts his eyes and just revels in the feel of yet again being filled, of being cleansed. The Master is so kind to him, that he treats him so well, keeps him so clean and pampered. 

When the flow ceases, the Master soaps him all over again, and Kirk nearly purrs his contentment. 

After being rinsed, and towel dried, he is allowed a moment to relieve himself, from the douche and for the night. A simple, yet filigreed ring is placed around his penis and balls, and he doesn't fight it. There's no reason to. He's come to expect this nightly ritual, and stays still as he is also collared. Spock then runs a small golden chain from the collar, to the piercings on Jim's nipples, to the piercing in his cock, and lastly, secures it to the ring. The blonde acts so satisfactorily, that the other man pats his ass cheek.

"Time for bed, pet." The Master tugs at the little chain around Jim's neck, but needn't. The man complies willingly, following the other man into a small bedroom. The room is decadent, satin pillows and gauze curtains hanging all over, elaborate sconces and crystalline statues adorning the room. Back before all of this, Jim can remember being in a bordello of sorts with Bones, for one of the older man's birthday's, although this place is a lot nicer. Jim frowns slightly, remembering. Bones. 

Dammit, how long has it been since he thought about his best friend? Even as he is being beckoned over to golden embroidered pillow, faces flash behind his eyes. A bright eyed young navigator. His faithful helmsman. His drop dead gorgeous communications officer. His reliable chief engineer. Dozens of other crewmembers, looking to him for guidance. Bones, hanging out on the bridge just to chat with his best friend, never far for words of wisdom. And Spock. . .

There's a stabbing sensation in Jim's head and he grunts, falling forward on to the slick pillow, gasping for air. For a moment, reality shifts, and nothing is as it was. The decorations, cheap and tawdry, rough against his skin. Dirt and stains on the floor and fabric. Everything is in a hue of stone grey, a prison cell. He looks up towards the master, and stiffens in shock and anger.

Not Spock. Of course it's not Spock. How could he be so stupid? Jim bites his lip, feeling blood trickle down his chin, and the pain is good, it keeps the illusion from covering his eyes again. With a snarl, he leaps at the multi appendaged monster, but doesn't make it very far, ensnared by so many tentacles.

"Calm down." The monotone voice of the creature demands, appendages tightening around him. Whatever drugs were still trying to affect him, it gazes solemnly at him with Spock's chocolate brown eyes. Jim snarls in fury.

"Fuck you! This isn't real, you piece of shit! None of this is real!" His struggles are in vain, but he wills himself to remember. His crew. Uhura, Pavel, Hikaru, Scotty. Bones. Spock. His Spock. Not this monster doppelganger. 

A sigh tumbles out of the creatures lips, and it seems to be thinking. 

Suddenly, the door slams open, and Kirk strains to see who is coming for him.

"We were so close. You were almost ready to be on the market, and now this defiance?" The voice is Spock's, or at least the voice that was coming through the creature pretending to be Spock. Jim's brow furrows. The two aliens must have some sort of telepathic bond, surely something that can manipulated. "You must think you are so special. So hard to break, my little whore, but you have seen nothing yet. I didn't want to put you on the market as a cowering, sloppy mess, but if you give me no choice, I will make it my goal to sell you to the most abhorrent Master I can find."

The Rhanganzhi spreads him wide, holding Jim's back against his chest, splayed open. Tentacle tendrils hold him in place, tug on the chains that are binding him. Jim thrashes as best as he can, but all he can manage is to undulate in the creature's grip. 

Jim finally gets a glance at the alien holding him hostage. A green wizened face glaring at him with cruel teeth and dead eyes. Orion slavers. Of course. Jim spits at him, but the glob falls short, and the alien cackles. 

"You. Can't. Do. This." The blonde seethes, and is answered only by laughter and a slap across the face.

"Why not? No one is going to stop me. Not you. Not your Federation. They have no idea where you are. They've already given up on you. You will never see anyone from your previous life. I tried to be kind to you, to train you and transition you with the least amount of pain. Obviously, that was not harsh enough to break you. But now, you will break. And you will regret it." The old Orion hisses, tugging painfully on the chain that binds his nipples and cock. Jim chokes out a pained groan.

"What you're doing right now, violates about a dozen-" Jim screams as he is cut off, the Rhanganzhi's tentacle cock slamming into him brutally, as his channel painfully tries to open to accommodate. Despite however long he has been compliant, it burns, raw and spasming. When the creature slides out and rams back in, it gets slightly better, but the stinging tells him that he is bleeding.

"You do not understand slave, even now." The Orion twists the chains and Kirk helplessly jerks with them. "You belong to me. Until you belong to someone else. And if you do not please them, they will sell you to someone even more terrible. As long as you keep fighting it, you will be in a world of pain." Although the blonde is being bounced repeatedly, he watches hatefully as the other man pulls out another vial of liquid. "Perhaps you just need to be fucked stupid, broken until your brain can think of nothing but cock."

A withered hand reaches out, forcing his mouth open, though Jim tries to protest. The creature pushing in and out of him raises two thin appendages to pry his jaw apart, and the Orion starts pouring the liquid down his throat. It burns, heating him from the inside out, the feeling invasive and comforting at the same time. Jim whimpers deep in his throat, already feeling his cock tightening against the ring. 

When one bottle has been upended, the former captain gasps, panting heavily at the thickness in the air, the feel of the phallus in him, the weight of his chains. He tries to remember- Spock. Bones. The rest of his crew. They'll come for him, they'll-

The Orion starts to upend another bottle in his mouth, and the blonde tries to desperately thrash away to no avail. The liquid is sweeter, hotter, his cock harder. The thing in him seems to be hitting his prostate every time. When the contents of the bottle are finally in his stomach, Jim is groaning, writhing delightfully, eyes half lidded in pleasure. But it's not enough.

Tendrils of tentacles snake up over his torso, tugging at his chains and playing with his nipples, his cock, sliding along his legs and feet, cocooning him in sensation. His hands manage to run over more would be cocks, and he strokes them lovingly. Eagerly, he opens his mouth as the Master uncorks another bottle.

"Yes, drink up slut. After I have given you to every slave on this ship to play with, I imagine you're going to be a hell of a lot more compliant." The old Orion cackles, and Jim can only answer by giving a dreamy smile lips taut around the neck of the bottle as if he doesn't realize that the glass vessel isn't a cock itself.

Deep in his mind, he imagines it belongs to someone with loving chocolate eyes, delicate hands, and pointy ears.


	6. Market

"Ass up, slut!" the voice growls behind him, and Jim arches his sweat and come soaked back, muscles taut and trembling. It is hard to move with so many around him, and time seems to have stilled for him. His daily routine never changes, he is woken, fucked and allowed little sleep. If he is 'good', he is rewarded with the liquid. 

He's almost always 'good' now. That sweet sticky fluid is the only thing that makes it tolerable.

The cock in his mouth erupts, and he sputters around it, throat constricting around the head. The slave behind him slaps his ass in approval before releasing his own stream into his ass. Both remove themselves from him, and he slumps to the floor, breathing hard, arms and legs like jello. Cerulean eyes are clouded, unseeing, even as the next slave fists a hand in his hair and raises his mouth to his cock. Jim whimpers but opens wide.

Another grabs him by the hips, hard enough to bruise and slams in. His throat goes slack, allowing the creature in front of him deeper access to his throat. The pain is intense, his soaked walls twitching against the intrusion. It always seems that whenever one cock leaves him, an even bigger one takes his place. Between the two grunting creatures, he feels like a piece of meat roasted on a spit, being corkscrewed into from either end. The shuddering won't stop, his need to release is too painful, body oversensitive.

There's no escape from this. No point to fight back. It's been so long, that Jim wonders if he was ever important to anyone.

As he is filled again and again denied his own release, he believes it impossible.

~~~~~

Alcohol does nothing to assuage the bitter helplessness he felt. Days passed into weeks, and still there was nothing, no hope of finding Jim. But then, with orders to chart the next quadrant, how could there be? He knows very well that any and all leads that could have been found were gone by this point, and the enigma of the disappearance of Kirk would never be solved.

Command slowly becomes his new way of life, making pivotal decisions that before he would have used logic and reasoning. Now, there is a certain amount of consternation with every command and choice that would not have existed before. It does not take very long to realize exactly how difficult it could be to be the Captain with the decisions that Kirk had to live through every day. 

Some of the days he ends up in sick bay at the end of shift partaking in a drink with McCoy, although the bourbon boasted to be 'Kentucky's Finest' never has the same effects that they do on Leonard. It makes Spock _want_ to be intoxicated, to not feel as if a part of him has been ripped away and is gone forever.

He sleeps little. Meditates poorly. Finds himself reading and rereading status reports. Nyota starts to take more meals with him and tries to be there for him, but he can not speak or even look at her most times. Their relationship has ended on mutual terms, but it seems unfair to diminish her kindness with only thinking of the Captain repeatedly. Double shifts become common for him, make things easier for him to focus on.

But sitting in the chair, Jim's chair, makes him only long to see those cerulean eyes and cocky smile again.

~~~~~

It feels like months have passed in preparation for this day.

All around him, the room buzzes with an almost electric charge of tension. The area has been draped with clean swags of fabric, each in a different color to accentuate the slave in front of it. The blonde has been kneeling, rigid and upright with his hands clasped behind his back for the better part of an hour. His calves are starting to get tired, the chains pulling his taut pierced nipples becoming heavy and unbearable. Not many have even stopped to look at him.

Some aliens with swinelike features find him hideous and disgusting, glaring at him with beady eyes as they shove the hors deurves offered into their smacking mouths. A couple of blue creatures with antenna titter at his position, considering that he might make a good house maid, but then balk at the price. Many different creatures pass him by, disinterested by his lack of limbs, how soft his skin is, hair color, even his lack of multiple genitalia. On one hand, he is relieved that no one wants to buy him. But at the same time. . .

He doesn't want to go back. Right now is the first time he's been lucid enough to realize that the last. . . however long it has been, has been wrong. Something is off, and he can't tell what, but he feels like he is missing something. Through one of the windows on the far side of the room, he can see mulitudes of stars outside, shining softly. His heart aches.

Out there is where he belongs, soaring and free, shackles gone. Out there with. . . 

But he can't remember. It feels like there should be someone by his side, a place that feels like home and smiles and belonging. It slips from his grasp. He just can't remember anything other than being a slave.

He jerks as a slimy hand cups one buttock, squeezing firmly. His legs tremble in their crouched position. One digit starts creeping inward, probing for his hole, and his breathing becomes labored.

"Sir, no touching the merchandise." Comes a sharp bark behind him, and the hand retreats. The blonde closes his eyes for a moment, not wanting to see which creature touched him. For once, he is glad of guards ringing the room. 

A fierce looking woman walks by, and he is startled that he knows she's a Klingon. Some of the names of these creatures are muddy in his mind, but this one snaps to the forefront, and for no reason he can surmise makes him watch her warily. Just when he thinks she will pass him by, she grabs his face and pries his mouth open, checking his teeth as if he were a horse. She must like what she sees, because she grunts in appreciation, a cold, hard sound that wrenches his gut. In less than a second, he knows he doesn't want to be her slave.

The Master is immediately there, full of smiles. "Interested, Miss?"

With an irritated glance, the Klingon releases his face, jerking him slightly. The blonde barely keeps from yelping. "He's too scrawny. I want a trial to see if he's even strong enough to perform." The blonde stays rooted to the spot, tense even as the Master tugs idly at his chains. His nipples ache, his balls ache, his cock aches, and based on the look that this woman is giving him, if she has her way, they will more than ache. 

"Well now, I don't just trial out my prize slaves, Miss." The Master drawls, and the woman growls at the word, forehead ridges flushing darkly. "But. . . I can give you a demonstration." The Master tugs more insistently at his chains, and he can do nothing but follow.

There are murmurs all around him as the crowd watches him crawl after his master, lithe and blonde, trained well enough not to trip over himself or his golden chains while on his hands and knees. He feels so exposed, ass in the air, cock bouncing from the weight of the chains, he almost wishes for the liquid to cut the edge of his fear. By the time they reach the dais in the middle of the room, he is trembling all over and his heart feels as if it will hammer out of his chest. There is a sea of alien faces all around him, some greedy, some aroused, all ready for the show. 

He tries to breathe evenly as the Master parades him around the circle on the edge of the platform, eyes ahead and ignoring the leers of the crowd. Lights catch on the soft sheen of sweat covering his body, making it glimmer, and he tries to think of anything but the chains pulling his cock to and fro like the pendulum of a clock. He is led to gaudy pillows in the center. The blonde immediately lowers his torso flush to the soft fabric, ass still high in the air. The satin is cool against his cheek, and the blonde gratefully closes his eyes.

He learned early on that improperly presenting himself only angers the Master, and is relieved that no irritated swat connects with his ass. Instead, he feels his arms chained behind his back, then his head carefully arranged for better viewing.

"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed guests and everyone in between, this one is a real treat. Such golden Terran flesh is a rare occurrence, especially for a slave. And his eyes!" The blonde's eyes snap open as if on cue, hazy and unfocused, but desperate to keep the Master happy. "Truly bluer than the waters of Dalrizean 3!"

His eyes focus and the blonde can pick out the Klingon woman in the crowd gazing at him with a terrible look in her eye. Jim can barely repress a shudder, fearing her interest. Some in the audience take the slight tremble as anticipation.

"But how well trained is he?" Calls a voice from the audience. "Pretty lips are nothing if they are not pleasurable!" Others murmur in assent and the Master smiles.

"Jmad." The Master calls to him and he knows to comply. The pet name has been used on his many times, in Orion dialect the word means 'golden'.

"Yes, Master."

"Do You like sucking cock?"

Jmad doesn't dare to pause. "Yes Master. I live only for you to use me as you wish. May I suck your cock, Master?" Laughter titters around the room. He can feel the Master walk up next to his head.

"No, my little pet. But you will show everyone just how fully you can satisfy with your velvet throat." His eyes focus on a little blue tendril of a plant that the master places in front of him, and stiffens. He's seen one before, in his training. He knows that with stimulation it will grow, feeding on his saliva and other fluids. The last time he was in the same room with one, he thought he was going to go insane, the tendrils growing, encompassing him, seeking out every nook and cranny of his body. It's just a tendril, but it's still dangerous.

But it's far more dangerous to go against the Master.

The blonde wets his lips, and then licks at the tip of the plant. Like magic, the plant deepens in color, filling out and becoming thicker, more phallus shaped. He licks again, giving a long laborious suck on the end, and it grows longer, probing out toward him in search of more of that warm, slick wetness. He knows that all eyes are on him, and his cheeks tinge pink at the thought of so many seeing him like this. About to give oral satisfaction to a plant.

What else is there for a slave, than to follow through with the whims of their masters?

Slowly, the dais starts to spin, allowing all in the room a chance to get the same views of the slave. The blue shaft nudges his lips, and he allows it to slip past, tongue lolling thickly against its underside. It has a sickly sweet flavor, like some sort of fruit that is overripe, but not yet rotting. Jmad opens his eyes, sucking and licking, moaning deeply. He looks at every guest he can as wantonly as possible because he knows it is what is expected of him. Some watch with little interest, others it is obvious by tented pants and other areas of their bodies. One creatures knees look swollen under their trousers, and the blonde tries to focus on the task at hand. Better not to think of any of them naked.

The plant probes more into his mouth, pistoning in and out, and the blonde keens around it, his own cock hard and weeping. His blue eyes flutter, and land on another figure watching him on the sidelines. The person is robed, hood drawn up over his face, but he can sense a gaze from underneath boring into him. The dias spins away, and he tries to keep looking at the man, head turning in his direction. At that moment, the plant thrusts deeper into his throat, earning a squawk from the blonde. He can feel his legs trembling, but knows that he must stay in position, that the Master will be angry.

He can hear murmurs of the crowd, and talking all around him, but with the vine squelching in and out of his mouth, it's hard to focus on what is being said.

". . . on demand?"

"Why yes, of course, but to see that you'll have to buy him for yourself." The Master chuckles, stroking his back fondly.

Another voice peals out from somewhere behind him. "What about bruises? Do they last?"

"For those of you who might want to blemish this perfect skin, I assure you, it turns lovely shades, like a Cardassian sunrise. But yet again, you will have to purchase him to see such beautiful colors." 

The plant in his mouth has grown so large that it is starting to wrench his jaw open, and the blonde must keep swallowing and breathing through his nose to keep from drooling everywhere. His cock is starting to throb, and he can tell that his ass is twitching, desperate for some other form of stimulation. As the wheel turns, he sees the Klingon woman, leering thoughtfully at him, and it renews his panic.

"Surely such a tiny creature is not able to please those of us who are heavily endowed." Jmad catches the speaker, a large vermilion creature with apelike features and webbed feet. He is twice the blonde's size, so he can only imagine that he indeed would be too much for him. One of the Master's soothing hands pets him on an ass cheek, and he shivers, eyes closing as the vine works in and out of his mouth.

"I know that his petite looks may be deceiving for one such as you, but the beauty of humans if nothing else is the tenacious elasticity of their asses. Observe." The blonde feels something slightly slick and metal probing at his entrance and lets out a muffled moan. Just the feel of something pressing against him is enough to set him over the edge. Before he can stop himself, he pushes back against it, drawing a few chuckles from the crowd. "See how he yearns for the feel of cock inside him?"

The device slowly sides into him, but it doesn't hurt. After as long as he has been going through training, this time being shown off to prospective buyers has been the longest time since he can remember not being filled with someone or another's cock. His ass wriggles, trying to get the tool to touch his sweet spot, but it remains teasingly far from it. A whimper escapes him, hips bucking, but all the Master does is pet him soothingly. Then the device thickens. It's comfortably slick, spreading his walls, little by little. With as many cocks as he's taken, the size doesn't hurt at all, and he closes his eyes, nearly purring on the vine in his mouth, sucking for all he is worth. By the whispers from the crowd, he knows that they all can see inside, just how wide his ass will go to take the most insanely huge person in the audience.

"As you can see, good sir, that he is willing and able to take any genitalia you might be endowed with. See how he trembles inside, I assure you, his pliancy will make every time feel like you are fucking a virgin." The Master states, allowing the device to keep spreading him. The blonde furrows his brow, he's just at the point of discomfort. It keeps spreading.

He makes a strangled noise around the plant in his mouth, hips bucking as he is stretched far wider than any normal human should be. The Master's wrinkled hand clamps down on his ass cheek, stilling him and he does his best to bear the pain, tears in his eyes. This has gotten out of hand, far too humiliating. He can't even imagine having to spread himself this far for one of the larger creatures in the room, it feels like he's being ripped in half.

The vine tenses in his mouth, before roughly pushing in and out. The blonde coughs and sputters around it, starting to lose his composure. He catches a glance at the hooded figure again. There's something familiar about the set of his jaw, he wants to see more of their face. Wants to see what lies underneath. But the wheel turns again.

". . . not giving the females in the audience a proper show!" Jmad can tell that it is the Klingon speaking, already the dais turns and he can see her angered face. The Master releases the device inside him, and it slowly goes back to its normal size. His legs are trembling, and he knows that he's going to collapse any minute.

Without warning, the plant erupts into his mouth, sending a stream of how sticky liquid down his throat, coating the rawness inside. Only then does it subside, slipping out of his mouth, a bridge of come spanning the distance between it and the slave's mouth. Dutifully, the blonde licks out, catching all of the release with his tongue, and sucking the head of the plant clean. It earns a few gasps and pleased whispers from the crowd.

He collapses, a sticky panting pile on satiny pillows. But he is not down for long, the Master's hands in his hair like claws, raising his head for all to see. Jmad can only imagine what he looks like, cerulean eyes dulled and pupils blown, a fine sheen of sweat coating his body, come dribbling down his chin.

"Miss," the old man starts, "As you can see, I only deal in the finest, most compliant flesh. I do not doubt that this one could satisfy your every need, but also that in the minute case that he failed to, you would find every amount of pleasure into breaking him to your will." The dais has spun so that he is passing her face again, and it looks contemplative, and wicked. Jmad gasps for air, wishing this to be over. "I believe that I have showed you what my little Jmad is capable of, and that he indeed could be a bright and shining light for your chambers."

The Master turns him over gently, so he is laying on his back, head against the pillows. He knows he is spread-eagled, hard, and hates every being in this room. His head lolls back, the room upside down, as the faces kaleidoscope around him. If he thought he could get away with it, he would close his eyes. Again, he sees the robed figure, and from this angle, catches a closer look at the face inside. It's still obscured in shadow, but there look to be chocolate eyes, slanting eyebrows, and pointed ears. It recalls a memory in him, something safe, something sure.

But he still can't remember.

"We will start at 10,000 credits. Do I have a first bid?""

Hands fly up all around the room, and the blonde blacks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many many thanks to Yeaka, for the use of the Hyper Prepator~ <3 
> 
> More on that little device can be found [here](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/60160791147/i-need-this).


	7. Chapter 7

_The whir of the engines surround him, calm and comforting. The soft clicks and beeps of the console like a lullaby, and even somewhere, perhaps a soft soprano voice humming under her breath, like a memory of another time and place. He wants to open his eyes, needs to. But there is a part of him that knows once he wakes, the beautiful dream will be over. A dream of friendship, companionship, people that trust him and look up to him. . ._

_Instead of down on him, as if he is nothing more than a toy or receptacle. . ._

"Slave. Wake up."

The voice cuts into the dream, and the blonde barely suppresses a whimper. The Master doesn't like when he is disobedient. Slowly, opens his eyes, prepared for the hallucinatory decadence of his quarters. . .

. . . and is shocked to see a pointy eared man staring down at him, pristine black hair not a hair out of place. His throat goes dry. He can't even utter the name that he wishes to.

Spock! His heart sings, even though his mind has lost the meaning of who exactly Spock is. Even so, it's someone important, so important to him. He grins and reaches his arms out, finally grateful, finally happy to be truly saved-

The collar around his neck shocks him immediately and he crumples on the bed, tears springing to his eyes. "Why?!" He croaks out, one tiny hollow note of despair. The man grimaces down at him, as if he was about to be touched by filth. 

"Do not dare to touch me. I can see that damn Orion lied. You haven't been trained at all, have you?" The voice snaps, laced with irritation. It stokes an irrational rage in the blonde. How dare this man make a joke of everything that he had been through? The blonde crouches, ready to spring at the other man for such an accusation. But he stills. Lashing out would likely do nothing more than get him punished again. He can wait for another time. With much effort, he leans back on his heels, fists white knuckled on his knees, and awaits an order.

The other man watches him for so long that he is able to take in more things. The room he is in is small, with burnished metal walls and no decorations. Nothing more than a small cot with sheets and a blanket. With a shock, he realizes that he is clothed, for the first time in he can't remember when. It is nothing special, a thickly woven robe without embellishment, but he feels grateful for it under the scrutiny of the other man's gaze. That should have been trained out of him, but the shame is there, niggling at the back of his mind. Was it because this man looked like this Spock person?

Lip curled in irritation, the other man rolls his eyes. "Follow me, slave."

The blonde slowly rises and follows, careful not to come too close to the other man. He is led out of the little room, down several corridors. A ship of some sort. Though he has never seen the tech aboard, there is something that feels familiar about it, at least a lot more familiar than the Master's ship. He shakes his head. _He's not your master anymore, thank god._

He is lead to a common area of the ship with tables. The other man motions for him to sit, which he does without complaint, just a nervous eyeflick around the drab but well lit room. It seems large enough that six people might fit snugly on the vessel, and the blonde desperately hopes that isn't going to be his future. The moment his rear hits the seat, his collar makes a shrill beep. Suddenly he is pitched forward slightly. There's a magnetic tension between his collar and the table. Biting the inside of his cheek, he tries to keep his face passive.

The other man is turned to a synthesizer on the wall, pressing buttons, and then pushes a plate full of colorful cubes at him. He knows they are edible, but after so long of subsisting off of come, water and an occasional tasteless and brothy 'meal', the blonde is practically salivating at the thought of something that might be considered 'real' food.

Still, he waits. The pointy eared man watches him a moment, and then scoffs. "By all means, eat. I am sure you have been living off of all means of disgusting tripe."

There is no grace to how quickly the blonde consumes the bland cubes, but each and every one of them taste amazing regardless. He knows the other man is still watching him, but he doesn't care. 

He is licking his fingers when the other man speaks again. "What is your name, slave?"

Immediately the blonde tenses. One wrong answer, and he knows that he will be punished. With a swallow, he bats his eyes coquettishly at the one that he can only assume is his new master. "Whatever pleases you, my Master." The honey practically drips from his voice.

The raven haired man barks a laugh, shaking his head. "No, lets not have any of that, shall we? I asked for your name. If it gets changed, I am not going to be the one to do it."

The blonde inhales sharply. So, this man isn't his final destination. With a sigh, he relents to the only thing he knows. "Jmad."

"Really, Terran? I am sure you were not born with an Orion name. Unless you were reared by that sickening piece of shit?" The other man wryly states, giving him a sardonic smile.

With a shake of his head, the blonde licks his lips. "I don't know how long he had me, but I wasn't a child. I was. . ." His brow furrowed, just like every other time. No matter how hard he tries to remember, it always slips away. "I don't know."

Rolling his eyes, the other man leans back in his chair, huffing a sigh. "Excellent. He broke your mind so you couldn't tell anyone if you were illegal or not. Just perfect."

He seems to be pondering something, but the words he has just spoken fill the blonde with an irrational anger. "I am not broken!" He seethes, starting to rise, but is held in place by the magnetic pull. 

The other man laughs, staccato and nasal. The blonde is really starting to detest the noise. "Really. Did I not see you sucking a plant like a whore? Proffering your body to all sorts of disgusting creatures? Not to mention how much your rectum can accommodate. Why yes, I suppose you haven't been beaten down to do ludicrous things, have you?"

Rage swells within him, pure and hot, and suddenly his hands itch desperately. He wants to reach his hands around the damn Romulan's throat and choke him until relents and brings him back to his ship, after all he is James T. . .

The other man watches him with a strange look on his face as the blonde recoils in shock. What was he even thinking about? How did he know this man was a Romulan. . . and was his name really James?

Silence looms over the two of them. Finally, he breaks it. "Call me James."

"Is that really your name?" The other asks flatly. He doesn't know, but it's better than any link to the Orion. 

After a long moment of silence, the other man snorts. "It's not as if I care. Do you feel full now? Or do you require more?" He must blanch at the wording, because the other man blinks at him as if he is an idiot. "Don't worry, slave, I have no interest in 'filling' you. You are reserved for someone far more important, so I suggest that you stay on your best behavior until you are received."

James doesn't really know what to say to that, but the thought of not being used for once comes as a relief to him. 

 

~*~*~*~

_Soft hands touch him all over. He can't help but whimper under each caress each is more kind than any that he ever recieved under his old master's care. Fingertips dance over his jewel studded nipples, eliciting a soft sigh from him. They take the utmost care to graze over the planes of his stomach, the dip of his navel and the jut of his hipbones. James shivers as the touch teases lower. A soft baritone whispers words in his ear in another language that he can't comprehend, although his ears strain and his brain tries. . ._

_"T'hy'la. . ."_

_Two fingers trace the outline of his cock, a gesture that seems so normal, yet feels so intimate that he cries out, body bucking further closer to that embrace-_

. . . and he wakes alone, hard and flushed. For a moment, he feels like something is truly wrong with his body. He's quivering all over nipples peaked and a thin sheen of sweat matting his hair to his forehead. His cock is straining, and his asshole is twitching, begging to be filled. There's no rationalizing the hunger claiming his body, the need for release that's desperately overtaking his body.

Realization dawns as he stares down at himself, and he tries to figure out exactly when the last time the master gave him the aphrodisiac concoction. How long ago was the auction? Since his capture, he can't remember a time not ever taking or having the liquid forced down his throat. The only thing that ever made him feel better was. . .

Without a second thought, he closes one hand over his hardness, trying to grasp the wisps of the dream that seem to slip through his fingers like smoke. No matter how hard he grasps from root to tip, how slow or fast he pumps, it's not enough. Before he knows it, he pushes a finger into his hole. His brilliant blue eyes become half lidded in ecstasy as something primal takes over in his brain. The more he pushes in, the more he wants. As if his fingers are working faster than his brain, a second pops in and he moans deliciously.

Yes, this is what he wanted, to be filled, to be fucked, like a good little whore-

_"T'hy'la. . ."_

There's something not right, the gentle scenario of his dream doesn't match up with his training, and he whimpers. Two fingers don't seem to be giving him what he needs, so with a frustrated grunt, he adds a third. 

_Yes, more, bigger and harder!_

James stiffens, but can't seem to control his limbs. The more he touches himself, the better he feels. Heat floods his body as he starts to feel even better. Each stroke feels damnably perfect. His fingers stretch inside of him and he craves more. For a desperate moment, he wishes he was back with the master, getting pounded back into the pillows by the Rhaganzhi. A sickened giggle spills from his mouth at the thought. After all the time dreaming of getting away from the beast, now he wants it more than ever.

He strokes his sweet spot with a fervor. He is close, so close to climax, and yet, something is holding him back. The blonde wishes for anything to set him over the edge. The beast, the master, hell, the Romulan could come back in and fuck him dry, he doesn't care anymore. . .

_"T'hy'la. . ."_

Immediately, James thinks of those pointy ears, chocolate colored eyes. That normally dour face, contorted in pleasure as he slams into the blonde. Skin sweaty and flushed green. How hard and virile, with a look on his face like James is the only thing he will ever need. . .

"Spock!" James cries out, shooting hard, body arcing up off of his cot. He feels warm, satiated. Slowly, he lets his hands fall to his sides.

Spock. The mystery man. Seemingly the one who could complete him, and bring him happiness. Where was he? Who was he? And most importantly, was he even real?

As the come starts to cool on his belly, the blonde swallows hard. Maybe Spock wasn't even real, maybe he was only ever a figment dreamed up to help him cope with the master. James bites his lip. He's not going to cry. He's wasted enough of his time on cowering and tears.

Rolling on his side, he stares at the metal wall of his bunk, and pulls the covers up to his chin. Nothing really matters anymore. Spock's probably not real, nor is the name James. With a deep sigh, he curses how stupid he's been, after all, James and Jmad sound very similar. 

He is a slave. Reluctantly, he takes a deep breath and tries to accept that as he closes his eyes to fitful dreams.

~*~*~*~

Spock's eyes snap open and he gasps, breath heaving. For the first time in months, the Vulcan allowed hope to blossom in his chest. He couldn't explain it but his nightly meditation had given him a sense of peace, a vision so bright that the star of it had shone like gold.

A single tear slips down the Vulcan's cheek, as the rest of his face remains calm and impassive. 

He was alive. Somewhere out there, Jim was definitely alive.


End file.
